Too Little, Too Late
by T.R. Normandin
Summary: One shot. Sam thinks he is getting in Dean's way and graciously offers to bow out. Brotherly fluff ensues.


_Too Little, Too Late_

_T.R. Normandin_

_Disclaimer: I own nothing Supernatural, that belongs to Eric Kripke. My most valuable possessions include things like a Sigmund Freud action figure, a bag of marshmallows, and some discounted country CDs._

_Author's Note: This is my first finished fan fic, so play nice. I don't like to apologize for work ahead of time, but let's just say I like beginnings much more than endings._

They said I was too young to save her. Only four years old, completely innocent at that point, what could I have done? I've always thought that was a load of crap. It wasn't that I was too young. I saw a kid on TV deliver his mother's baby at four years old, saw another drive his unconscious father's car to the shoulder of the road (and I hated both of them for being able to save their parents' lives where I'd failed). So it wasn't the age thing. I wasn't too young. I was just too late.

By the time I heard my father's screaming, by the time I saw the smoke, it was too late to save my mother. She was already plastered to the ceiling, already soaked in flames and her own blood. But it wasn't too late to save Sam. When my father thrust him into my arms and entrusted me to get Sam out, I made a decision. Never mind that I was four years old. I knew my life's purpose. My life's purpose was Sam. A lot of people find my compulsive need to check up on my brother a little psychotic.

The thing is, if the only thing that keeps you going in life is the fact that at least you saved your baby brother, even if you failed your mother, you'll do anything in your power to keep said little brother safe. That's something Sam never understood, my relentless determination to keep him alive. Whole. Happy. Because as much as I understand that Sam has his own demons, haha pardon the pun, he's never had to deal with that.

Which is probably why he didn't understand that when he left us to go to Stanford, when he took Dad at his word to never contact us once he'd make the break, he completely ripped out my heart. Not that I could expect Sam to understand. Sam didn't know that there were days when the only reason I didn't step in front of an oncoming train was because there would be no one to make his spaghettios or walk him to school or watch his back on a hunt.

When Sam first went to Stanford, my first reaction was pride mixed with sadness. I was sad that I wouldn't get to see him every day, wouldn't be able to argue with him over music or tease him about his girlie lattes. The feeling of abandonment didn't set in right away. I was proud of Sam, and I liked to think that I'd had a part, however small, in the making of this man who could stand up to the formidable John Winchester. That I'd helped shaped the man who could rush headlong into a foreign environment and assimilate into it alone without a trace of fear.

But as time went on, I began to feel that abandonment seeping through. I hadn't understood at first that Sam meant not only to leave the hunt or my father, but all vestiges of our family, including me, behind. When he made no effort at maintaining contact, when he stopped the pretense of even answering when I called him, I realized that I didn't mean as much to my brother as he did to me.

But then Dad disappeared and everything changed again. And even though he was now Sam, not Sammy, I started to see traces of my little brother lurking in this academic apple pie stranger. He'd even told me "You're my brother, and I'd die for you," the closest thing to "I love you" that a Winchester male had managed in a long time. Of course that was before he shot me. It had taken me a long time to get over _that_, but I had.

And then Sam had made his revelation in Chicago, that once he found this demon, he was going back to college, and leaving me all over again. That even if we could be together again, that wasn't what he wanted. I was glad I wasn't holding any weapons when he told me that, because I might have just chucked them at his head in frustration.

In time, I came to accept Sam's decision. Not to agree with it, but to rationalize it away. At least if we found this demon, if we wasted it, Dad's quest for revenge would be met. And maybe when the red haze cleared from his eyes, he could see something other than demons and weapons and danger. Like his sons. He and I could hunt together, as a real team, and he'd cut back on his death wish antics. Sammy could go back to Stanford and get a law degree, and maybe even clear our names. It would probably be good, in our line of work, to have a connection to a prominent lawyer. And Sam had said we would still be a family. It wouldn't be like last time. Everyone would get what they wanted, sort of.

Then Dad had sacrificed himself to this demon to save my life, and everything had gone to hell again. I couldn't even look Sam in the eye. I'd gotten Dad killed. I'd failed him in my one true mission, to act as his protector, as Sam's protector. He'd been Sam's dad too, and I'd failed Sam in letting the demon take Dad away from him.

I'd yelled at Sam, said hurtful things about his caring about what Dad wanted, his need to stay in the hunt for Dad, being too little too late. In part I said it so Sam would just shut up, because I felt like the world was closing in on me, and I couldn't take Sam's looks of pity when he should be the one throwing punches. In part I'd said it because Sam couldn't possibly know the responsibility Dad had dumped on my shoulders when he'd whispered Sam's secret in my ear before he'd died, and I knew that I could never live up to the challenge, and the person most needed to help me protect Sam was dead because of me. But the worst part of all, the part that made me hate myself more than anything, was that I said it in part because I was so damn angry at Sam. That he would stay in the hunt for Dad, who was _dead _for God's sake, but he hadn't even been willing to come and help me for one weekend without coercion.

I buried that resentment as deep as I could and I apologized to Sam for the things I'd said, for punching him, for generally being a jerk, because I couldn't stand to see Sam moping around, feeling guilty, blaming himself for something that was none of his doing. And because I knew that Sam would leave me again, and that this time I wouldn't be able to handle it and move on with my life. I didn't have Dad to lean on, I didn't have Cassie to distract me, and when Sam left this time I'd be left with no motivation to keep on living. In my line of work, no motivation and no focus is pretty much a death sentence. I wouldn't have Sam remembering that the last contact he'd had with his brother had been a punch in the face and weeks of sulking. When Sam left this time, after we found that demon and killed it, which God damn it, we were going to do, even if I did have to make a deal with the devil, he would leave with a clean conscience and without having to look over his shoulder for the things lurking in the dark. I owed him that much, at least.

I was sitting at the Roadhouse bar, sloshing around a mug of beer, and thinking about all of this, when Sam sidled up to me. I knew he was there, even without looking up, because I knew the sound of his footsteps. I rubbed a hand over my face at the thought. God, I knew everything about the kid. I needed to get a hobby. I didn't say anything as Sam sat down beside me, because Sam likes to begin a conversation, likes to think he's dragging the conversation out of me, when the truth is that I like talking to Sam, like knowing that he cares enough to push past my walls and force answers out of me.

Sam heaved a sigh and I finally looked up. There was a glossiness to Sam's eyes that put my big brother senses on alert. I scanned the bar quickly and spotted Ash by the pool table, flirting with some bleached blond and looking completely casual. Well, as casual as a mullet wearing genius who goes by the name of Dr. Bad Ass can ever look. My gaze traveled back to Sam, trying to size up just what had put that cloudiness in his eyes, just why the muscle in his jaw was twitching.

Sam pressed his lips together and his nostrils flared and I had to suppress the grin, knowing it was Sam's usual prelude to a lecture or at least a rehearsed speech. But that was when I noticed that Sam had his duffel bag clasped in his good hand, his backpack slung over one shoulder, and his laptop secured across his chest. "What the hell? Did you have a vision? I thought we were staying here tonight," I said, trying to keep my voice casual.

The truth was, Sam's visions scared me. But not for the reasons he thought. They scared me because they were abstract enemies who hurt my brother, enemies I couldn't shoot with rock salt or burn the bones of.

"I didn't have a vision," Sam said, and suddenly he was avoiding my gaze. He started to fiddle with the strap of his laptop case and I frowned. "What's going on, Sam?" I asked him. "Nothing. I just...I'm just gonna go back to Stanford," he said in barely a whisper. "What?!" I spoke so loudly that several heads turned in our direction. Deciding it was best not to air our family dysfunction to the world, even if they were hunters and might understand some of it, I grabbed Sam's arm and pulled him toward the door. As we neared the door, Jo reached out and put a hand on my shoulder, but I brushed her off.

I didn't let go of Sam until we stood by the Impala, at which time I released him roughly and ran a hand over my face. I'd thought I'd been prepared to hear those words from Sam, but he'd caught me off guard, again. Still, I would hear him out as Dad hadn't when he'd first decided to go to Stanford. I wouldn't let my brother leave with bad blood between us. The thought of that hurt even more than the thought of Sam's leaving.

Finally, I met my brother's concerned gaze. "What are you talking about?" I asked, as calmly as I could manage. "Well," Sam said, sounding weary. He put his bags down and leaned against the hood of the Impala, which normally I would've given him hell for. But now I had an almost twisted desire for Sam to leave a mark on my baby, for Sam to leave some indication that he'd ever been around, that Dean Winchester was not alone in the world.

Sam ran a hand through his hair. "I talked to Jo, and we agreed..." he began. I paced away from him, and then back. "Jo?" I asked in confusion. What did Jo have to do with anything? And since when had Sam talked to anyone else about what was bothering him before he talked to me? Sam just nodded, not even acknowledging my bewilderment. "It's better for you if I get out of the way. Jo can hunt with you. There will still be someone to watch your back," Sam seemed to choke on the next words, but forced them out, "Even if it's not me."

"You want me to hunt with _Jo?_" I asked, finally coming to sit beside my brother. Jo had nearly gotten herself killed, I couldn't trust her to guard my life. There were only two people I had ever trusted with that, and one of them was dead, the other sitting beside me telling me he was giving me to Jo, as though I were a puppy he'd grown tired of. And then something else occurred to me, "What do you mean you _agreed_? What the hell does Jo have to say about anything?" I demanded.

"She just pointed out what I already know," Sam said, suddenly very interested in running his open zipper up and down. He didn't see the physical reaction that must have accompanied the fury leaping from my gut to my throat. "I've been getting in the way," he added, and I nearly slapped his hands away from the zipper so he would look at me, but I knew he needed the distraction. "_You_'ve been getting in the way of me and _Jo_?" I asked, incredulous.

Sam finally looked up, and his eyes were glossy. "Sure. I mean, look, you already gave up Cassie to stay in this life, and I know that some of that was because of me, to stand between me and the things that go bump in the night. And now you're interested in Jo, and I just keep standing in your way. I get it, Man. I mean, who would want to hang around with their kid brother when they could spend their time with a hot girl? You went with Jo, not with me, on that hunt we all went to together. Every time we're in the Roadhouse I feel like a third wheel, and you try to pass me off to Ash. So it's better for you if I get out of the way. You won't have to worry about your freak brother, and I can go back to Stanford and have my _normal_ life," Sam blurted out, suddenly seeming bitter about the concept of normal.

I put my hands to my head and then held them out to stop the flow of information. There was so much wrong with what he'd said that I thought it might make my head explode to sort it out, but I knew that I needed to do so. I couldn't let Sam continue to think those things.

"The thing with Cassie," I winced a little with the mention of the name, "And the thing with Jo are entirely different things," I began, because that seemed the easiest topic to deal with. It seemed vital to make that distinction. Jo wasn't Cassie, and the comparison had never even crossed my mind before. "Cassie, she got involved with the life because of her father. But as soon as we dealt with that killer truck, things got right back to normal for her. Jo is tainted, like us. She won't ever have a chance to get back to ignorant bliss. If I'd brought Cassie into this, it would have been me stealing away her security and innocence. With Jo, the job's already done. Jo and I both know the score. It's just something to pass the time, Sammy, and to tell the truth, I haven't been as interested in passing the time as I used to be," I said.

"But," Sam interrupted, but I wagged a finger at him. "Wait. You had your say. Hear me out. As for that hunt, I went with Jo because she's green. She's a frickin walking target, and she has no clue how to take care of herself. I wasn't going with her as a partner, Sam, I was going with her to protect her. Which as we all know failed miserably. But I didn't let you go off on your own so you'd be out of the way. I let you go off on your own because I could trust you to get the job done," I said. "Dean..." Sam began again, his voice heavy with emotions I couldn't understand.

"Hold on. I'm not finished. As for you going back to Stanford, I'm not gonna stand in your way, Sam. You're my brother and I want you to be happy, even more than I want you to stay," I said, and my voice cracked a little. I wished I had a weapon to sharpen to distract myself with. Instead I closed a hand around my necklace.

"But I won't have you go because you think it's what I want. _I _would choose to hang out with my kid brother, over a hot chick, any day. I pawn you off on Ash because I figure you can get your geek boy fix. What I want, more than anything, is for you to stay. I told you as much in Chicago. And even if you do go, Sam, I'll always be worried about my _freak_ brother," I gave his shoulder a nudge with my own. "It kinda comes with the big brother title," I added. Sam let out a long breath, as though a weight had been lifted from him.

He pinned me with a look. "Dean, I know you don't want to hear this, but all that's happened to us...Mom, Dad, Jess..." his voice trailed off and he bit hard on his lip. "It's all because of me," he said. "Sam..." I began, but he just wagged a finger at me, not even bothering to repeat my words. "I know it's not my fault, but it _is_ my problem. And we both know, if you hang around me, something's gonna come after you. It's the easiest way to get to me. Everybody knows without you, I wouldn't be able to keep going. Hell, even Dad knew that. He knew that if you died, he'd lose both of us, but by saving you, he'd save us both. _That_'s why he made the choice he did. Because he knew I needed you more than I needed him," Sam said bluntly. I didn't know what to say to that, but I opened and closed my mouth several times as if the words would form of their own volition.

"And we don't even know if the thing that comes after you will _be _me. I mean, look at Max Miller, look at Webber. The demon has plans for me. What if that means it's my destiny to hurt people? What if it's my destiny to hurt _you_? I can't stand it, Dean!" Sam said passionately. I felt the ground steady beneath my feet. Here was easier territory for me, because I doubted myself, I doubted my father, I doubted Jo and Ellen, I doubted life. But I never, _ever _doubted my brother.

"You remember when Andy made me tell the truth, and I said I was scared?" I said. A grin tugged at the corners of Sam's mouth. "I thought we were erasing all that, you were taking a do-over?" he asked. I shook my head. "No. But let's clarify. I'm not scared _of _you, Sam. I'm scared_ for _you. You would never hurt me," I said. "But I have..." Sam said, swallowing hard. "The asylum, when you were possessed? All right, well, first, we'll get you some anger management classes. And now that we know Dad could fight off a possession, I'll expect you to do the same, so I hope you were taking notes," I joked. Sam frowned, and that stubborn look came into his eyes.

"Dean, don't joke about this," he pleaded. "It might be my destiny to be evil, and if it is, there's nothing you can do to stop it," he told me. "Watch me," I dared him, echoing the words he'd said when I'd been sure that my life was over and there was nothing he could do. "Look, Sam, you're a Winchester and you know not to buy into what things seem like on the surface. Destiny is a bunch of bullshit. Destiny is for people who need an excuse for all the whacked out shit they've pulled. It's really a choice. A choice you have to make every day. Max Miller, he _chose_ to kill those people. Hell, Andy and Webber are a damn good example. Twins, they had the same DNA, the same abilities. Webber _chose_ to use them to hurt people. Andy _chose _to save Tracy's life, and mine, and yours. And you _chose_ a long time ago to be a good person, Sam. Even when you were a kid, seeing things people twice your age couldn't stomach, you never let it destroy you. After all you've seen, you still care about people, still care about doing what's right. That's what's gonna save you, in the end," I said with conviction.

Sam looked a little taken aback, but I could tell the words were starting to sink in. So I decided to give him that final push. "Why do you think the demon said Mom and Jess were standing in the way of his plans for you? If you were supposed to be Mr. Big and Bad, how could two human women destroy that? Mom and Jess helped you to choose what was right, Sam, that's why the demon destroyed them. But he made a major mistake. Because it didn't make you want to become like him, it made you want to destroy him," I said. Sam pressed his lips together and swallowed hard, as if he could swallow his emotions, but a tear slipped past his guard and down his cheek. We both pretended not to notice. "Thanks, Dean," he said.

"Are we good?" I asked him. He nodded. "We're good," he affirmed. "And next time you're starting to feel the pressure of a prank war, there's no need to hide behind Jo as an excuse. You can just tell me you can't take the heat, or should I say, the itching powder," I added with a smirk. He gave me a playful shove. "Jerk," he accused. "Bitch," I responded, and I knew we'd be okay. "Sam, put your junk in the car and then go grab my stuff. We're not staying here. But there's something I've gotta do before we go," I said.

I kept the smile in place until Sam disappeared into the back to retrieve my bag, and then I stalked over to the bar. Ellen turned toward me, a smile on her face, but that quickly faded when she got a good look at me. "What's wrong, Dean?" she asked flatly. I ignored the question. "You and my dad had some issues. I get that. Hell, I had issues with my dad too. Everyone who knew the man had issues with him. You want to use whatever happened between you against me, that's fine," I said, throwing in a charming smile even as I wondered if I could burn a hole in her face with my eyes alone.

"I don't..." she began but I held up a hand. The time for BS had passed. She had messed with _Sam_, and with knocked him off balance. That was not to be tolerated. "Yes, you do. And that's fine. I let you take it out on me when Jo went on that hunt, because I shouldn't have lied to you, and I screwed up, didn't protect her as best I should. I'll take on that guilt too. But what I won't have is you messing with Sam," I said curtly.

Ellen's eyes fired. "I've never messed with Sam. I've been nothing but nice to him. I've taken his calls, given him advice, offered you a place to stay. It's more than most people would've allowed," she hissed. I clasped my hands together until I was sure I wouldn't wrap them around her neck and squeeze until she had no air left.

"That's exactly what I'm talking about. Acting like helping Sam is some charity job. It's not. Sam's not some freak, he doesn't have some debilitating illness, he doesn't need to be coddled. And he doesn't deserve to have someone like you making him feel subhuman. You got issues with this family, Lady, that's your business. But you won't be taking them out on Sam, who had nothing to do with any of your reasons for hating us," I said.

Ellen scowled at me. "He could be dangerous, Dean. I'm just trying to help you boys out before it's too damn late," she said. I shook my head. "Sam's only dangerous to supernatural evils and his own self worth. I told you before, we don't need your help. That still stands. I'll take care of Sam. I just wanted to be sure that we were clear, I don't have Sam's morality. You mess with my brother, I'll take you down, any means necessary. End of story. I don't care about what species you are. Evil is evil, and hurting someone like Sam, who has spent his whole life trying to help other people, is evil," I lectured. "Fine. I won't say anything to your brother," Ellen allowed. "And I don't want anyone else finding out about what he told you," I added, and her eyes tracked over to Jo. "Oh, don't worry, I'll be talking to her too," I said.

Ellen crossed her arms over her chest. "Don't even think about messing with my girl in my place, Winchester," she said threateningly. I grinned, glad that she'd given up the whole Mommy-substitute act and was finally dealing with me on equal terms. "I'm not gonna waste my energy sparring with her. There's just a few things we need to get straight. And don't worry, I won't be in your place for long," I responded, and walked away before she could say anything further.

Jo was flirting with some guy who had two teeth, about to hustle him out of some money at the pool table. I gestured for her to come over, and though her lips formed a pout at the lost opportunity to make money, she joined me at the end of the bar furthest from where her mother stood. She put a hand on my chest, slid it up to my shoulder, and I nearly flinched in revulsion. How had I been so lost in grief that I'd let Barmaid Barbie come between me and Sam?

"So, you had a conversation with Sam," I said, as sweetly as I could under the circumstances. "So?" Jo asked, reaching up to toy with my hair. I pulled her hand away. "So, what did you say to him?" I asked with deadly calm. She jerked a shoulder and I just snapped.

"You've already forgotten? You told my brother that I didn't want him around, that he was standing in the way and should go back to Stanford, and you don't even remember?" I asked her. Jo's lip poked out. "Well, he was in the way. I never get to be alone with you," she said. "And now you never will be. Did you really think you'd be more important to me than Sam?" I demanded.

Jo shrugged again. "Sam's not like us. Sam doesn't understand the life," she said dismissively waving her hand in the air. I grabbed her by the wrist. "Sweetheart, Sam knows more about the life than you ever will," I told her, genuinely amused now. Jo jerked out of my hold.

"I didn't think Sam would go running to you and tell on me," she said, changing tactics. "You thought I'd just let my brother leave here looking like a kicked puppy and not find out what was wrong? I guess you misjudged Sam _and _me," I said.

"Dean, we have something here. You told me I should find something other than the hunt in my life. Well, so should you. You deserve something better than being your brother's sword and shield all the time. Maybe we could find it together," Jo said pleadingly, reaching for my hand. I stepped out of her reach. "Sam is my _brother_," I emphasized, as if I could possibly make her understand. She just stared at me, uncomprehending, so I tried again.

"Sam is the only thing I have from before that fire demon screwed everything to hell. My mom," I raked a hand through my hair. "My mom is gone. And my dad, even before he died, wasn't the same. But Sam...that fire demon, it could never touch Sam. It could never taint him, even though it tried. Millions of things have tried. They all failed. Nothing can touch Sam. There's this goodness in him, and this innocence, in spite of everything. And sometimes, when I'm with Sam, I feel like maybe it rubs off, like maybe I'm good too. Sam's the only thing that keeps me human," I said. And saying that, suddenly feeling the truth of it, I didn't want to go a round with Jo. "Just stay away from my brother. Stay away from me too," I said, and turned and walked away.

"What did you say to them?" Sam asked, as he folded himself into the passenger seat of the Impala. I didn't respond, just waited until he shut the door and pressed down hard on the accelerator. I wanted to put at much space between us and the Roadhouse as possible. "I didn't say anything," I said. "Dean," Sam said sternly, lifting an eyebrow. "What?" I asked, all indignant innocence. Sam just gave a sigh and settled back against the seat.

I glanced over at Sam when I heard him make a choked sound. I couldn't make out whose name it was that he whimpered, but it didn't really matter. I guided the Impala over to the side of the road and ran a hand over his head. Sam tensed, and in sleep his first instinct was to throw his hands up to shield himself instead of to fight back. "Sam. It's just me. Relax. You're safe. It's just me and you now, and everything's okay," I said.

Sam didn't wake up, but the words seemed to penetrate his consciousness, because he relaxed again, at least as much as the dashboard and his freakishly long legs would allow, and I thought maybe he even smiled. I realized that what I'd told him had merit beyond coaxing him out of nightmares. As long as it was just me and Sam, everything would be okay. I pulled the Impala back onto the road and sped off into the night.


End file.
